The Bin Laden Plot

The code phrase.

Harrison had little time to analyze why Khalila had chosen to engage rather than walk away. He stepped closer to the Kuwaiti agent nearest him. “What did she say?” he asked, since Khalila had spoken in Arabic.

Before the man could respond, Khalila flexed both wrists and a knife slid down into each hand. She swung one upward, driving it beneath Iqbal’s chin into his brain as she threw the other knife at the next closest Kuwaiti agent, impaling him in the center of his chest.

As the man fell to his knees, Khalila used Iqbal as a shield, pulling her knife from his head as a spray of bullets peppered his back. Then she let her remaining knife fly, hitting a third man in the throat. She dropped down, retrieving Iqbal’s pistol as a burst of bullets from the third man passed overhead, then finished off both wounded Kuwaiti agents with a shot to each man’s head.

Khalila had caught the Kuwaiti agents by surprise, as had Harrison. After obtaining a hold of the nearest man’s pistol, Harrison had twisted the agent’s hand upward and pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through his skull. Harrison kept the man’s body between himself and the last agent as he pulled the pistol from the dead man’s hand. Three more bullets, and the last Kuwaiti dropped to the ground.

As the final man fell, joining the other agent sprawled at Harrison’s feet, Harrison turned toward Khalila, assessing whether she needed assistance. She had done excellent work.

She retrieved her knives, then said, “We must leave, quickly.”

37 SALMIYA, KUWAIT

“This mess isn’t going to be easy to clean up,” Asad Durrani said.

Harrison and Khalila were sitting around a table with their case management officer in a CIA safe house in Salmiya, a city several miles southeast of Kuwait City. They were on the fourth level of a nondescript, eight-story building owned in its entirety by the CIA, in a flat that had been transformed into the safe house headquarters: the living room was missing the typical furnishings, filled instead with several men at computer workstations, monitoring displays mounted on the walls. Joining them at the table was Marzouq Ashour, a specialized skills officer responsible for managing the CIA safe house. Also at the table was their driver, Nizar Mussan.

An hour earlier, Harrison and Khalila had scaled the outer wall of the Seif Palace, rather than risk heading out through the entrance manned by security personnel, and had been picked up by Mussan. They had swung by their hotel and collected their belongings, then hastily departed. The Kuwait Security Service would quickly deduce who had killed their five compatriots and would undoubtedly determine where they were staying, so new accommodations were required. For the time being, the CIA safe house in Salmiya would suffice. How to deal with tonight’s event was the current topic of discussion.

“The seventh floor at Langley is going to have to handle this,” Ashour said. “This isn’t something I can resolve.”

“That’s understandable,” Khalila replied. “Does the DDO know yet?”

Ashour shook his head. “Not from us, at least. We got your call shortly after we picked up the chatter about something going down at the palace, so I decided to wait until you arrived and we had all the details.”

He glanced at the notes he had taken moments earlier. Khalila had taken the lead explaining what happened, although Harrison noted that she had left out several details: the question that had triggered the elimination edict and the part about her being untouchable. Actually, the entire story Khalila had fed Ashour had been a complete fabrication.

“We need to get to Rashidi,” Khalila said. “What paramilitary resources do you have available tonight?”

“Hold on a minute,” Ashour said. “You two are in hot water and about to be flayed by headquarters for killing five Kuwaiti agents on government grounds. And now you want to go after the head of the Kuwait Security Service?”

“We need to move fast,” Khalila said. “It’s doubtful he’ll realize we’re going after him next, but the longer we wait, the more likely he’ll make the connection and beef up his security.”

“I’m sorry,” Ashour said. “The political fallout of an operation against Rashidi would be extreme. Unless the seventh floor authorizes it, I can’t help you with this.”

Khalila folded her arms across her chest, contemplating the matter. She turned to Harrison, searching for ideas.

Harrison asked Ashour, “What kind of assistance can you provide unofficially? For example, could we borrow a few items from your armory?”

Ashour nodded. “I can provide equipment. Just no personnel.”

“What about recon? Can we get a look at the security at Rashidi’s residence?”

“We have satellite images you can examine. Nothing at ground level at the moment.”

“Satellite should be fine,” Harrison said.